


Dom's Simple Pleasures

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Epistolary, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-08
Updated: 2006-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 21:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I decided to write another Monaboyd.  This one was 21 pages in Word so excuse me for the slightly summary editing.  I think part two could especially be better, but I really wanted to post this now for some reason.  Dedicated to  because she wanted more Monaboyd from me, to  for her always amazing "A Squee by Any Other Name," and to  and  for their WIP "Making Memories of Us."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dom's Simple Pleasures

      Dom has a list. He made this list long after the fact, after he had discovered all these things, but he arranged them carefully in chronological order according to when he discovered the preference for each item, and the list sits proudly in the front of his journal. It is labeled, in scrawling blue ink: "Dom's Simple Plesaures."

Number one: Dipping biscuits in tea. Discovered 1980.

      Dom's favourites are chocolate Hobnobs, but when he was a boy they didn't have Hobnobs, so he would buy plain chocolate biscuits from Lidl and dunk them in the tea his mother would serve up hot with lemon, milk, and honey after school every day from the electric kettle. In a pinch, he could achieve the same effect by biting off an edge of biscuit, then letting the saliva build in his mouth before taking the next bite so that it would have that same soft consistency; however, this was generally frowned upon in polite company.

      When the family moved back to Manchester and Dom was old enough to go to the supermarket alone, he would use a bit of his salary from working at the post office for one of those twenty packs of milk chocolate digestive bars from Tesco, the kind that come individually wrapped. He tried Jaffa Cakes for a while, but the spongy texture of the cookie made it too soft for dunking, and one unfortunate incident in which the slick dark chocolate had caused the biscuit to slip from his fingers altogether had turned him off of Jaffa Cakes forever. There's something horribly wrong about a bloated spongy cookie floating in your tea, taking up the entire circumference of the cup and tainting your normal brew slightly orange and chocolaty as a consequence. After that, Dom stuck with the digestive bars.

Number two: Curling up on the bathmat. Discovered 1983.

      From the time Dom was old enough to take showers instead of baths, he developed a very particular routine. Drape towel over curtain rod. Start water. Take piss. Curl up on the bathmat until water heats.

      Quickly, this spot, warm on the fluffy mat encased in steam and heat, became Dom's refuge. For some reason, nosy mothers had no trouble interrupting their sons while sleeping, listening to music, or doing their homework, but there was some unspoken mother rule that you did not interrupt your young son in the shower. It just wasn't done. And so, Dom realised, this was the best time he could find to think.

      Curled up in the foetal position, he would sigh luxuriantly as the water became hot and filled the small chamber with its humidity, fogging the mirror and lulling Dom into a sense of comfort. It was here that he first thought about girls, and later, boys. Here he could entertain his deepest secrets without his mother walking in and interrupting. Sure, he might enjoy a nice leisurely wank in the shower afterwards, but never on the bathmat itself. The bathmat was sacred.

Number Three: Stretching noises. Discovered 1984.

      As a child, Dom usually awoke first to an alarm, and then to his mother screeching, "Why didn't you hear the alarm?" There was a limited amount of time in which to roll blearily out of bed, shrug into a robe, go downstairs for tea and toast, and try to appear presentable. The weekends, however, were precious times.

      It was around the age of seven that Dominic first began to really enjoy the luxury of waking up alone, to his own internal clock, without a nagging mother or a pestering beep to aid him. Here, in the privacy of his own bed, he would slowly stretch, enjoying that blissful comfort of the first morning extension of the limbs, from lower back to legs and arms to cramped-up toes. He would groan, loudly, and then giggle at himself. And then he would do it again. There's something about those first few stretches in the morning—when you stretch again, later, you can't feel it, but there's something wonderful in those first stretches that just makes you want to moan out loud from the pleasure of it. And so, Dom did.

Number Four: Blanket fortress. Discovered 1989.

      When the Monaghans left Germany, Dom went through an adjustment period. It was something that most boys would be expected to experience when moving to a new country, speaking a new language. Dom managed to appear cool at his new English state school by smoking his first cigarette, combing his hair with gel, making out with an American girl named Macy Lou behind the University English department.

      It was only occasionally, and only at night, that he let himself cry. Blankets pulled tight around him, he wrapped himself up like a mummy and sobbed straight through the flannel, wracked his hands through his hair and cursed God vehemently in two different languages. And when he woke up the next morning, feeling strangely childish with the blanket still pulled full over his head and the orange light of morning streaming in through the fabric, he would smile and wiggle his toes and look at himself in his own homemade tent. Here, in his blanket fortress, Dominic concocted elaborate fantasies in which he was the star and his best friend, name and face unknown, played the faithful sidekick, always there in a tough spot. They would build a house together, spend the afternoons lounging in a meadow full of clover and daisies, and his best friend would never leave. After reading Yeats in English class, and finding some poems which he particularly liked, he carved the initials "W.B. + D.M." in the headboard behind him with a pushpin. Only years later would he remember this engraving and fondly smile.

Number five: Natural hand lotion. Discovered 1991.

      Naturally, Dom had begun masturbating well before the age of fourteen. However, initial forays into this art had been hurried, unspecific, done with the direct goal of fulfilling a need. As his teenaged years wound on, Dom found himself instead weaving fantasies, wanking slowly and with purpose. Rather than a quickie in the shower, he most enjoyed a slow, torturous wank in bed at night, drawn out to the point of frustration.

      It was thusly that Dom discovered a pleasant side effect of such adventures. After a nice long night time session, not naked, but with his hand tightly encased between his pants and his groin, Dom noticed that the skin of his right hand became deliciously, delicately soft. The warm, damp environment did wonders for the skin, and though the effect only lasted half an hour and was long-gone by morning, Dom adored gently rubbing his hand against his cheek and marvelling over the softness, akin to how his skin felt before hopping in the shower, after curling up on the bathmat.

      From this point on, Dom religiously rubbed lotion on his hands and feet every night, going to sleep in a clean pair of socks and a pair of cashmere gloves, but it wasn't exactly the same.

Number six: Fluffy blankets. Discovered 1992.

      When he was fifteen, Dom's family moved to a new house. As a consequence, some of the old furniture and other household belongings were tossed in the bin or donated to charity, and that included Dom's bedding. The blue flannel bedspread he had used for years was judged "ratty" by his mother, but she allowed him to choose his own replacement at the linens store.

      Among so many shelves of silk, wool, cotton, and flannel Dom could hardly make up his mind about which to choose, but when he did find his new blanket, there was no competition. Soft and fluffy against his cheek, the dark blue blanket was 100% polyester and labelled "Snuggle Touch." His brother scoffed at that idea, but Dom just frowned and possessively held onto the bundle in his arms, and his mother grudgingly paid up. From then on, Dom had a highly positive relationship with the Snuggle Touch company, who supplied him blankets for late night dormitory television sessions, chilly airplane cabins, and more than a few late-night snogging sessions. Fluffy blankets, he pointed out to Matthew with a scoff, always impressed the birds.

Number seven: Lime juice on skin. Discovered 1994.

      This one came about completely by accident. One weekend, his parents were out of town and his brother decided to have a party. Sixteen-year old Dom couldn't really do much about that, even though Matthew wasn't quite legal yet, and so he watched with a bit of awe as his brother's friends trickled in, and a truly impressive supply of alcohol was assembled in their large country kitchen. Not really sure what to drink among this array, he settled for a simple-sounding gin and tonic and set about assembling the ingredients.

      Shot of gin in a glass, or rather, a plastic cup. Fill almost to the brim with tonic water. A little girly looking, but what of it? Finally, feeling festive, he palmed a small lime from the refrigerator and set about slicing it to arrange a wedge on the rim of his cup. Not surprisingly, a trail of juice dribbled down his hand between thumb and forefinger, and absentmindedly he bent down to lap it up with his tongue.

      The drink sloshed slightly in his hand, but he paid it no mind and he stared at the fleshy mound of his own skin, eyes darting around as if he might have been caught committing a criminal offence and then, satisfied that no one was watching, bending back down for another taste. Lime and salt, a brilliant combination, one that shocked his tongue slightly but made his taste buds ache for more. Grinning at the discovery, from then on Dom was always sure to have limes on hand whenever he was making cocktails.

Number eight: Extra honey mustard packets. Discovered 1996.

      When Dom finished at Aquinas and got a role on "Hetty Wainthrop Investiagtes," his parents decided to invest in a car, an old fixer-upper really, but something that would ensure their son would actually come home from time to time now that he was eighteen and had a real job. One of the perks of his new vehicle ownership was that Dom could now go to a drive-through establishment and order _whatever he wanted_. His mom was a bit of a health nut, and so her sons were therefore expected to pick out one of the smaller items on the menu, something reasonable like grilled chicken sandwiches or maybe a small order of fish and chips. Now, on the first drive away from home, relishing the taste of freedom, Dom picked up a large order of deep-fried chicken with _three_ honey mustard packets. Arranging the little plastic tubs in a row on the dash, dipping from each one in turn as he went through his gargantuan supply of chicken, one hand on the steering wheel. Waste not, want not? Fuck it.

Number nine: Scarves, and other accessories. Discovered 1998.

      It was not in a sexual way that Dom initially found out about his love for restraint. In fact, it was the quite innocent gift of a charm necklace from a girlfriend that first exposed him to the idea of wearing something around his neck. Slightly heavy, the chain scratching against the back of his neck and the hidden trinkets thumping under his shirt against his chest, Dom smiled at the slight reminder the jewellery created throughout the day. Next he found a metal choker, not too feminine, that perhaps made him look a bit goth but accentuated the muscles in his neck and caused a slight choking sensation at his throat that he found not unpleasant, only grounding.

      From then on, it was a litany of items—silk scarves, ties, whatever he could get his hand on. He didn't look all that odd, as the "metrosexual" craze was starting up and the dawn of indie rock and roll as a movement was just on the horizon. Dom was the guy who was a little different, the one who made you want to look twice. When Dom dated his first boyfriend at the university, he was tied to the bedposts a few times and realised that physical restraint was not only desirable in the neck region. From then on, he wore leather wrist cuffs, chafing slightly, but curious and always drawing up questions that he was only too happy to answer, sometimes truthfully. Just a reminder.

Number ten: Circular letters. Discovered 2000.

      Dom always liked receiving mail, and when he was half a world away on a major film shoot in New Zealand, he craved the odd package or postcard even more. He was the one who had invented the circular letter, in a last ditch effort to reconnect with some of his school friends, people back at home in England or Germany.

      The rules were simple: the original sender includes a list of addresses, instructions and a message. He then sends the letter to the first name on the list, and around it goes, name by name, in order, each person adding a single page until it returns to the first person. In a generous mood, Dom also offered that when the letter got back to him he would photocopy the whole thing and send it to everyone before it went around again. The letter was never returned.

 

18th May, 2004

      Hello, my dear friends, from sunny Hawaii!

      Here you find in your mailbox the start of a circular letter. What is a circular letter, you might ask? Well don't get your knickers in a twist, mates. I'm about to tell you!

      The circular letter is a concept I made up several years ago. It is a simple concept; all that is required is some A4 paper, a few stamps, and a desire to keep in touch. When I invented the idea, I took that desire for granted and was disappointed. However, mates, I am certain that you will not disappoint me, despite your busy schedules. You will find, attached, a list of names and addresses. Dates of residence are included, insofar as I know them, so that you have no excuse not to write a note and pass the letter on to the next name on the list. You may write whatever you wish on your sheet; the only requirement is that you use only one sheet of paper to keep postage down. Well, carry on then! Time's a wasting!

Love and kisses to you all,  
Dominic Bernard Luke Patrick MONAGHAN

 

 

18th May, 2004

 

      Me first!

      It's a bloody brilliant day, mates. Wish you were here, of course. The sun shines spectacularly, the sky's blue, the water's blue… in other words, NOT ENGLAND.

      Once again I am blessed to be stuck in a gorgeous location for months at a time with a whole cast of beautiful people. How does that keep happening? Well, beauty attracts itself, I suppose. Only likely explanation I can come up with.

      As usual, I've insinuated myself into a right jolly pile of male bonding, except this time around there are females to tempt as well, and not just for a month at a time. Josh, Matt, Jorge, Naveen, Daniel, Terry, Harold, Ian (yes ANOTHER one) and I all get along swimmingly, and hey look, there's nine of us! Just kidding. Couldn't ditch the Fellowship if I wanted to, obviously. But hey, you guys have got to get a load of the birds on this show. Well, Ian, maybe not you. But you get the idea.

      As always, there is cast gossip floating everywhere. Evi and I have gone on a couple of "sort-of dates," and so everyone wants to know what's happening, but I don't really know, myself, and have no desire to rush things. She's a sweet girl, anyway.

      Maggie is all kinds of attractive. I've always had a thing for blondes (Billy, I'm leering at you now), but she is a tad bit young for me. Elijah, I know you're crying on the inside. I'm sorry love.

      Then there's Emilie. She's lovely, blonde, Australian, and used to be a dancer. Real fucking ballerina, flexible as anything. And our characters might have a little something going on. The catch? She's got a boyfriend. Of course she does. You saw that coming before I even said it. They all do. What is it with dancers and boyfriends and… just kidding Billy, I swear to God I'd never lay a hand on Ali. Well. Unless you wanted a little ménage a trois action…

      Right.

      Shit, I'm almost done with my page and all I've had time for is show gossip. Oh well. In the last ten centimetres of space, please enjoy a lewd drawing courtesy of yours truly. Billy, don't even try to tell me it's not _that_ big; I've seen you in the shower you naughty bugger.

 

 

26th May, 2004

      Dominic, might I be the first to suggest that you are, frankly, insane.

      Now I do suppose I owe most of you an apology. I was in Los Angeles for several weeks recently filming the second instalment of _The Princess Diaries_, as well as doing voiceovers, including those for a Christmas movie in which I play the voice of Santa Claus (please, dear hobbits, conceal your laughter). During this trip, I made no effort to see any of you, and I'm sure that at least some of you were in the area. I don't suppose this lack of contact was any real surprise, but I do want to send my fondest regards and deepest regrets for my (unsurprising though it may be) behaviour. This old sod will never be quite as social as the rest of you, but I do have the deepest respect for the Fellowship, as you know, and will try to do better in the future, staring with this letter.

      As I have little more to say, I am with the help of my wife photocopying below a recent photograph of my son. I might also add that I will be in Wellington in September for a convention, and if any of you have the time in your schedules to make a return journey, I would be delighted to see you.

All my best,

John

 

 

3rd June, 2004

      John, please. Labelling yourself "old sod" when you know for a fact that I have five years on you and am deliberately deluding myself that I am yet a young spring chicken is, in my esteemed opinion, rather rude.

      Dominic, my boy, must everything be about boys, girls, and sex? Well, yes, I suppose it must. Though I do appreciate the e-mailed photos of Mr. Holloway. I passed them on to Nick and we both approve quite whole-heartedly.

      Now, I suppose the proper thing to do here is give something of an update. I shall be in Canada in September filming, and then for Christmas performing in a production of Aladdin at the Old Vic in London. The show will run through late January, and I highly encourage any one of you who wishes to attend, especially Dominic, who once said to me that he would like very much to see me in drag. I have no idea _why_ you entertain such a fantasy, my young friend, but this is your chance. Also, I believe some of you will find it amusing that I have agreed to guest in a batch of Corrie episodes which will air next year. For the Americans, that's "Coronation Street," an abominable soapie which I spent far too many months after my break up with Sean obsessively following. Still, it could be fun.

      Nick sends his love to all and wants to know when he shall meet those of you whom he hasn't. Hopefully the Oscars, though we all know that's such a dreadful place to meet people for the first time. Still, I suppose it can't be helped. Below, a photo of the two of us. John, I sympathize completely; he was the one who figured out how to colour-scan and print it into the body of this letter, not I, and so I say simply that it is always a comfort to have a technologically literate significant other in times such as these. I hope you're all enjoying yourselves this fine summer; England is rainy and miserable as always but Nick keeps my days bright nonetheless; and for that I am thankful.

Sincerely and with love, Ian M.

 

 

19th June, 2004

      Ian, clearly you're trying to make the lot of us jealous with all your chatter about the strapping young Nick. I, for one, am not swayed. Shall I ever have the good fortune to find Wife Number Four, I'm sure I shan't be rubbing her in your face, you old sod (insult intended).

      Dominic, indulge an old man and send along photos of these aforementioned ladies. That's a good mate. You know I have no tolerance for those confounded email attachments, however, so don't even try. Not all of us have a gorgeous twenty-year old on hand to do our bidding for us, Mr. McKellen.

      As family photos seem to be the trend for those of us who can't manage such a "creative" drawing as the young Monaghan, here, I've included (taped in, as you can see, for I have no one to explain colour printers or photocopiers to me) a picture of the girls. Lorna is sixteen now, Molly twelve, and Evie six, if you can believe it. Dom, I must say it bothers me slightly that you appear to be dating someone whose name varies by a scant single letter from that of my youngest. But then, as I know you've dated men and women with names spanning the range of the alphabet in your short twenty some-odd years, I'll forgive you.

      As you've probably all heard by now, I'm currently living out of a hotel in London. The flooding to the house was irreparable, but I'm all right. Working steadily and should be finding a new place soon. No need at the moment, as I'm hopping back and forth between England and L.A. quite a bit. I did just finish up a stint of filming in Minnesota, which is something of a God forsaken state, but it was for a film starring Charlize Theron who is just as easy on the eyes as your hallowed Josh character, Ian.

      I'll be back in Los Angeles in September, so if anyone is around please do give me a call. I would like to see you crazy buggers every once in awhile, and Vig, would it really kill you to show your face in public for once? Honestly, just let us know you're alive.

Sincerely, Sean (Bean)

 

 

1st July, 2004

      Dom, this is hilarious, mate. Brilliant idea!

      I want to get this done before I head off to the States again for filming, which I guess makes a limited amount of sense since Sean is next on the list and I'll have to send it to LA anyway, but we can call it a race. Who gets there first, me or the letter?

      Right, so you would think that after filming in Spain and Morocco, I'd be kind of annoyed to be headed to Kentucky, of all places, but I'm looking forward to it. I imagine it'll be a very chill atmosphere, yeah? I have heard that Kirsten Dunst is a bloody bitch and a drama queen, though, can anyone confirm? I guess we'll have to play nice for the film, but lord knows I can play nice. Right out my arse, that.

      Hey Elijah, I'm completely nicking your accent for this film. Just to warn you. They wanted "neutral American," whatever the hell that means, and that's you, mate. It kind of freaks Mum and Sam out; and they say it sounds too high and flat on me, but then, you do sound a bit like a girl. No offence.

      So this is what it comes to then, mates. From a bad-arse archer in a fantasy film that requires a two-year shoot in New Zealand to a bloke making an American movie about shoes. Yes, shoes. Well I haven't finished the script; I admit. Stop rolling your eyes at me, the lot of you! I can go over it on the plane; it's a seven-hour flight.

      Kate's well, Kate. You know how it is. Up and down. We actually haven't seen each other in approximately forever, though she's supposed to visit me in Kentucky. I'm not sure how I feel about that exactly… Jesus, Beanie, if I don't watch it I'm going to catch your bad luck with women. No offence, mate.

      Okay, well lacking a lovely family photo, below is an attempt to improve upon Dominic's extremely crude drawing. Billy, please don't get upset at the, erm, position… I'm not saying you're a bottom, necessarily, just trying to make fun of Dom's slight obsession here…

Love, Orli

 

 

July 20th, 2004

      You better be quite glad that my daughters didn't find these letters, Dom and Orlando, or I'd have both your hides on a platter. Honestly.

      Orli, I think the letter did beat you, but only by a day, and I was filming in Florida when it arrived. Biggest news though at the moment, which I'm happy to share with you all, is that Chris and I are going to start trying to have a third child!

      Now Dom, Elijah, I want you to quit making inappropriate comments _right now_. I also should point out that no matter how hard the both of you pretend to be trying to make a baby with every man in Los Angeles, including each other, it's not going to happen. And don't look so shocked. Honestly, I'm sure everyone knows by now.

      John, you should know that I'll be at the Wellington convention as well! Can't wait to see you. Hope some of the rest of you will be there too, even the famous ones have no excuse. Come on.

      As I mentioned, I'm currently on a short break from filming in Miami. Before that I was doing a bit of work in Portland and earlier in the year in Shangai. That, as you can imagine, was amazing. I wish we could have brought the girls out but Ally is chugging happily through school and didn't want to miss rehearsals for the school play. She starred as Peter Pan and you all would've been very proud.

      My photo, as you can see, is Chris with Ally (7) and Elizabeth (almost 2!) Ally asks about all of you, especially the hobbits and Orli. And Viggo, she wants to know if you'll come play again and next time, can you bring Henry? I dare say the child has a crush, which I by no means encourage. But no reason you can't both come for sandwiches.

      So, coming up next for me is New Zealand in August, where I'll be doing a TV movie of Hercules (stop laughing) before said convention. Then it's onto South Africa, believe it or not, which I'm very excited about. Hopefully after that a bit of a vacation. Sean, I'm sorry I'll miss you when you're in L.A., but Christine says you're welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I would you like to note that I'm sending you my best "don't even think about it" glare from here, but I know you're not _that_ bad.

Best, Sean (Astin)

 

 

August 15th, 2004

      Hey mates, sorry for the slight delay! I've been in Prague filming _Everything is Illuminated_ and my mom still hasn't grasped the concept of forwarding mail.

      Sean, what are you insinuating? I do not fuck everything that moves, that's just Dominic. I mean, that's what Dominic does, not I only fuck Dominic. I'm going to stop now before I dig myself a deeper hole.

      Wow, you guys sure do get out! It's great to hear what everyone's up to. I've been in Prague for two months and have a short break now. Before that I felt like I was spending my entire life on an airplane (Beanie, stop shuddering). I had to do some filming in Texas for _Sin City_, which is going to be a brilliant movie; you really all should check it out. I don't have much of a part (though my head does—you'll see) but everyone else in it is amazing and the director is completely crazy. Almost as crazy as Pete, but maybe not quite. Then I spent the rest of the spring bopping back and forth between England, Massachusetts, and LA doing _Hooligans_. It was fun but I'm glad to be home. Beanie, you definitely have to stop by when you're in town! Mom will make you a cup of tea and we can catch up. Although she's had a crush on you for years and I _will_ kill you if you try anything. Borrowing Sean's evil glare now.

      Right then.

      Come visit me while I'm on vacation! No one ever does. And why does no one ever answer their phone anymore? Do I smell? And if so, how the hell do you smell through a telephone?

      Below, I have taped a lock of my own hair. Hannah says people do this, or at least did when she was in high school. I don't know why; but if any of you are really broke I suppose you could sell it on Ebay.

Love, Elijah

ps- Orlando Bloom, I do not sound like a girl. And if you every want to see just how much of a man I am, you poncing Elf, the offer still stands.

 

 

August 21st, 2004

      I think it may be possible that my friends are less sane than I am, and this scares me just slightly.

      Of course I miss you all, and quit making the hermit jokes that I know you all have on the tips of your tongues. Sean, especially. I do show my face in public, just not on British television or in your local strip club. I'm working, in fact, currently in Canada shooting _A History of Violence_. Ian, I'm going to go give you a call so we can get together some time. Is Nick coming to Canada with you? I hope so, as I would certainly like to see the man that half of Hollywood is raving/freaking out about.

      Now, I'd assume that the correct thing to do is attach a photo of Henry below, but I'm afraid I don't have one with me, and you all know what he looks like. So, instead, I've taken the liberty of recreating Dominic and Orlando's original drawings in acrylics. Though I don't normally subscribe to such "interesting" art forms, the two of you amuse me greatly. Stay in touch, all of you. Even when I don't.

Gros bisous, Viggo

 

      One early afternoon in mid-September, Dom went outside to pick up the mail when he noticed a black airport limousine heading down his street. About to turn around and head back inside, he stopped in his tracks when the vehicle pulled into his driveway and stopped a few metres away. _What the fuck?_ he wondered, trying to remember whether he was expecting any visitors in LA this month. His bewildered expression, however, soon slid into a full-on grin when he saw who was sliding out of the back seat and loping towards him with an identical wide smile.

      "Billy!" he shrieked, not caring that he sounded like a girl as he tackled his best mate in a tight hug, ignoring the driver who was currently depositing Billy's suitcases onto the drive. "You didn't tell me you were in town," Dom exclaimed as he pulled away, not letting go but just putting enough distance between them to get a good look at his friend.

      "I know, I… well I thought I'd deliver this in person," he explained, holding out a long white envelope that appeared completely stuffed. "Wanted it to be a surprise."

      Dom eyed him curiously, taking the envelope, and then realised what it was. "My letter!" Billy grinned at his enthusiasm and nodded. "You finished it?"

      "Yeah, of course we did." Billy gave him a strange look, but he just smiled and led the way into the house, taking Billy's bags so that he could pay the driver.

      "Hey, Dom," Billy called as he stepped inside and Dom headed up the stairs with his things. "Don't open that yet, okay?"

      Dom peered over the railing at him for a moment and then shrugged, continuing down the hallway to his own bedroom. "Whatever you say, mate! So, did you bring me anything?" he joked, pretending to rummage through Billy's things as his friend stepped just inside the room, lounging in the doorway.

      "Yes, actually," Billy replied, smiling but strangely quiet. Dom cocked an eyebrow at him but didn't prod.

      "Well, what is it?"

      "Come here and I'll show you."

      Dom stood, curious, and crossed the room in a few steps to stand in front of Billy.

      "Turn around."

      Dom obeyed, and drew in a breath as he felt Billy's fingers brush his neck. A bit of weight rested at his throat now, and he felt Billy's fingers now at the back of his neck, fastening a clasp. Looking up at the mirror across the room, he could see the small charm resting at his throat, just barely altering the way he drew his breaths, held in place by a simple black velvet ribbon tied as a choker.

      "What's this, Bills?" Dom asked, his tone quiet as he reached up to almost reverently brush the silver charm.

      "It's my family crest," Billy explained, his accent almost husky in response to Dom's own altered tone.

      Dom's hand stopped in place, and he froze, staring at Billy in the mirror for a long moment before the atmosphere got too heavy and he had to break it with a joke. "You're asking me to marry you, William? How sweet!"

      Billy rolled his eyes and stepped away, but Dom turned quickly, pulling him in for a quick, friendly peck on the lips. "I love it," he whispered, tone serious again, and Billy smiled again.

 

      "Two six piece fried chicken meals please, and six packets of honey mustard."

      "_Six?_ What the hell do we need _six_ for, Dommeh?"

      Dom blushed as he pulled forward to the next window. "It's just a habit. You'll see." And as they left the KFC and headed on to a dance club of Dom's choosing, he lay the six packets of honey mustard out on the dash and taught Billy the intricate art of dipping chicken on the freeway, laughing as a bit of the sauce caught in the corner of his mouth and licking it away with a dramatically sexified swipe of the tongue.

      Billy just laughed along with him and dipped his chicken accordingly, at one point dipping in Dom's second container to see if he'd notice.

      "Hey! You can't use mine!" Dom protested, and Billy grinned.

      "Here, then." And Dom opened his mouth, eyes on the road as he munched on a chicken wing and, for good measure, licked a bit of grease and salt from Billy's fingers. Billy, to his credit, didn't bother to wipe them off.

 

      After two hours and a number of pints later, both hobbits were at least a little worse for the wear, if not completely plastered. Dominic, after all, did need to drive home, and two years in LA still hadn't completely taught him how to make driving on the right-hand side second nature.

      "Hey Dommeh," Billy asked at one point, his slur considerably thickening his accent and his eyes darkened to a fascinating shade of green. "Have you ever taken a body shot?"

      Dom gulped and tried to laugh it off. "Come off it, Bills. Don't think your girlfriend would be too happy about that." Though really she wouldn't care; what Dominic was really worried about is whether after sucking limejuice straight from Billy's mouth he would ever be able to go back to normalcy again.

      "I broke up with her," Billy admitted, and his stare was intense, his voice low. "Or did I not mention that?" he added, and Dom gulped again. Fucker.

      "Well, uh… sure, okay." It came out of his mouth before Dom could really think about it. _Stupid fucking idea, Monaghan_, but it was too late to turn back now and Billy was already ordering a shot of Jose Cuervo Gold from the bartender.

      "You know what to do?" Billy asked, and Dom nodded.

      "I'm not that green." Billy just smirked, and pushed his collar to the side, inclining his head so that Dom could get a good angle at his neck. _Oh bloody hell._

      Dom stared at the exposed patch of skin for a moment, and then, mentally signing his own death certificate, leaned in and slowly licked a trail up Billy's neck. His own breathing coming up noticeably short with the help of his new choker and an unexplainable surge of lust he should not be feeling towards his best mate, Dom then took a salt shaker from the bar and shook a fine trail out over the wet patch, licking it up as quickly as possible to avoid the fire in his belly. Billy was just staring at him the whole time, and Dom felt his brain short-circuiting. _Salty, warm, Billy's skin, oh fuck._ And here was the part where he was going to lose it. Sighing inwardly, he took a lime wedge from the grinning female bartender and slipped it into Billy's waiting mouth. He knew he should be smirking, leering, anything teasing to lighten the mood, but he couldn't. All he knew, as he downed the shot in one gulp, is that the next part was going to kill him.

      Taking a good look at Billy's eyes to ground himself, Dom took in a deep breath and leaned in again, his hands naturally travelling to rest on Billy's thighs on the barstool, his head tilting slightly as he glanced down at the lime and then back up to Billy's eyes one last time. _Jesus fuck, Monaghan, it's not like you're kissing him,_ he admonished himself, and finally just went straight for it. And oh _fuck_, bad idea. For now he was sucking the shockingly tart taste from Billy's mouth, and fuck but his tongue didn't have to accidentally brush a bottom lip, and here with the salt taste of Billy's skin and Billy's sweat fresh on his consciousness…_fuck_.

      Billy, for one, seemed remarkably unconcerned as Dom pulled back, trembling, and simply removed the wedge from his mouth, balancing it on the empty shot glass and raising his eyebrows at Dom as if in challenge. "One more, please."

      Dom just stared now, for oh shit shit shit this was not happening. "Dommeh, be a good love and hop up on the bar, okay? I want to show you how it's really done." Dom's eyebrows _shot_ up at this suggestion, and his eyes flicked quickly to the bartender for help, but she just laughed and set down the whole bottle of tequila with another lime wedge.

      "Generally, body shots are taken out of the navel," she explained helpfully, and Dom just gulped again. _Fuck_.

      Seeing no easy way out, Dom boosted himself up on the bar nonchalantly as possible, quickly realizing that they were drawing the attention of a small crowd now, and he could just see the headlines. _Kinky hobbit-on-hobbit action atop local bar, other patrons look on in shock._ But Billy's eyes were positively _gleaming_ now, and before he could protest he was being pushed down by the shoulders to lie across the bar, and damn he hoped nothing too sticky was going to get in his hair.

      But cleanliness was not his main concern when Billy reached down and unbuttoned the bottom three buttons of his shirt, shoving the halves aside, and then lifted the saltshaker. Dom was sure Billy could feel him trembling as he leaned down and touched his lips to Dom's neck, but this was thrown to the back of his mind when Billy not licked but _sucked_, quite slowly and sensuously, at the spot just below the ribbon, before sprinkling it with salt. And then he felt Billy slide the wedge of fruit between his lips, just brushing the corner, and Dom hoped to God that this wasn't just one big joke, because he was way too far gone at this point to just laugh it off.

     He watched, wide-eyed, as Billy returned to his throat to lick the salt off, and the ticklish feeling of his tongue caused Dom to unintentionally bite down, releasing just a bit of lime juice onto his own tongue so that he could taste the familiar but still disarming tartness as he watched Billy pour the liquid into his navel and then oh _fuck_. Dom could do nothing but stare, gagged by a slice of lime, as Billy leaned down, his eyes locked on Dom's, and obscenely began to tongue the liquid out of the cavity, licking up stray trails expertly as Dom stared. Tasted lime. Smelled the lingering odour of Billy's sweat and cologne. Listened to the almost pornographic slurping sounds over the backbeat of the music. Felt Billy's tongue on his skin. And watched, as Billy's eyes burned a hole in his skull, raising from Dom's stomach to lean now to Dom's mouth, the lime cutting off an undignified squeak that Dom definitely did not intend as Billy sucked away the juice with relish. Oh, _fuck_.

 

      The ride home was silent. It was almost a wonder they made it, with Dom's brain so overwhelmed by alcohol and lust and confusion, but when they finally showed up on Dom's doorstep, he knew he had to say _something_.

      "So, then, um, watch a film, mate?" Billy nodded and Dom inwardly cursed and they settled down under a very fluffy blanket to pop in a DVD. It was warm under the blanket, too warm, and Dom felt himself lulled into a false sense of security in the dark and the soft warmth of the blanket and the rhythmic motion of Billy's thumb tracing unconscious circles around the denim covering Dom's knee. He gulped, murmured something about the toilet, and fled. _Gotta take care of this. Gotta take care of this before I really bollocks things up._

 

      In Dom's room, under the cover of yet another rather fluffy blanket, but then in the open air as it became almost instantly too hot, Dom stroked himself methodically, desperately, seeking release so that he could rush back to the living room as if nothing had ever happened and not delude himself into thinking it would. He moaned quietly as he conjured an image of Billy's eyes, darkened and yet so bright at the same time, leaning in to lick the alcohol from his skin, and _yes_, almost there. His eyes slipped close and he felt the warmth gathering low in his belly, when suddenly there was a hand on his forearm and he jerked, fist unintentionally squeezing tighter, eyes flying open.

      "Let me," Billy whispered, voice gravely with lust, and Dom gasped, _oh thank you Jesus_, as Billy slowly pulled his hand from his boxers, and then, inexplicably, lifted it higher, rubbing his cheek against the back of Dom's hand in a motion that was oddly tender. "Soft," he cooed before climbing in bed to straddle Dom's hips, and that was the moment at which Dom lost any hope of recovery.

 

      The next morning, Dom woke to find the single sheet draped over his head, somehow having migrated up there in the night. And he grinned in the dull yellow light filtering through the fabric, his gaze drifting lazily up and down Billy's naked form next to him as he contemplated the previous evening in the safety of his blanket fortress.

      _"Yes, fuck, take me Bills," he moaned, gasping as shirt and trousers were yanked away and two fingers disappeared into Billy's mouth, his cheeks hollowing, the motion unconscionably erotic. Dom's hips thrust of their own accord, and his breath was ripped from him as the fingers stabbed into him, spit-slick but tight as hell, and he moaned as Billy took his mouth, a silver charm pressing insistently against his throat, robbing him of breath as he thrust shamelessly onto Billy's fingers. "Now."_

      Billy smiled as he slipped lower on the mattress, underneath the sheet, and met Dom's eyes in the dim orange glow. "Good morning," he whispered, meeting Dom's lips in a slow closed-mouth kiss. Dom smiled against Billy's lips and felt blissfully safe.

      "Welcome to my fort," he whispered, his tone almost childish, and Billy grinned. "No one's ever been here with me," he admitted, and Billy reached out and squeezed him tight.

      "It's lovely," Billy replied, voice thick with emotion. And it was.

 

      An hour later, after another brief doze, Dom woke again to find Billy wrapped around him like a pretzel, cramps just making themselves known in his muscles.

      "Arrrrggghhhhh…" Dom groaned as he unwound himself, reaching out to stretch his body impossibly long, and then flopped back down onto the mattress, grinning as a sleepy Billy eyed him quizzically.

      "Mmmmggggghhhpphhhh…" Billy stared harder as Dom launched into his second groan, purposefully stretching himself right over top of Billy, and then burst into a fit of giggles. "They're my stretchy noises," he explained with a grin, as if that answered everything, and Billy just grinned back.

      "Rrrrrrrraaaaauuughhhh!" Dom shook his head and laughed aloud as Billy attempted his own stretch.

 

      Later, after Billy had brushed his teeth and went to his suitcase for some things, he returned to the bathroom to find Dom lying on the floor, the shower running, hugging his knees to his chest and looking up at Billy, strangely vulnerable. His bare skin was painted by white stripes of light that flooded in from behind the Venetian blinds, and Billy's eyes slowly raked across his form, a perfect curve of relaxed muscle, lithe comfort, his hair pressed damply against his forehead and his cock lying dark and soft against his thigh. Billy stared for a moment, and then he slowly sank to his knees, and crawled up behind Dom, spooning him silently as the steam wrapped around them in a cocoon on the fluffy brown bathmat.

 

      Dom, who always took longest in the shower, came downstairs in his terrycloth robe and grinned when he found Billy, sitting at the kitchen table, two mugs of steaming tea in front of him. Billy, who didn't notice his friend in the room, scanned the headlines of the morning paper, and reached forward absently, dunking a milk chocolate biscuit in the mug and aiming it blindly for his mouth, taking a large bite and then pulling it away with a satisfied grin.

      Dom just stared, for a moment, and then broke into a huge smile, coming up behind Billy and wrapping his arms around his waist.

      "My Billy," he whispered, dropping a kiss on his cheek and reaching for the hand that held the biscuit. "My love," he added, guiding Billy's hand to dip the biscuit in the tea again and then taking a bite. When Billy turned in his chair and licked the chocolate from the corner of his mouth, he simply grinned.

 

 

10th September, 2004

      Dear Dominic,

      I believe I'm breaking all your rules dreadfully, and for this I apologise. What I should do is scribble out a summary of the past month of my life, slip it into an envelope with the rest of the letters, and send it back to you to photocopy. Instead, I'm writing a declaration that will hopefully never meet the glass of a copier, or if it does, will at least not be trusted to the British Postal Service for delivery (you, as a former post sorter, will I'm sure understand my reservations.)

      What I fondly hope is that you are reading this letter in your home in Los Angeles, reclined comfortably somewhere with my arms around you and my scent in your hair. If this is not the truth, then I imagine I must be back in Scotland right now, but I've always had a bit of a masochistic tendency in certain areas of my life and I think you need to hear this anyway.

      Ali and I broke up recently, as I imagine I've told you by now. The reason for this break up was quite simple. Ali, bless her heart, fancied me in love with you.

      Now, at the time I laughed in her face. I pleaded with her, explained the nature of our relationship, but she just smiled and shook her head. There was no going back to her, and if I wanted to be happy, she suggested, I should tell you how I really feel.

      I spent several weeks in denial. I drank a lot of Scotch, and even shagged an anonymous woman, an act that I am by no means extremely proud of. And then this sort of chain letter appeared in my letterbox. I laughed my arse off at the contents, and then I thought about it. A lot, actually. I thought about how much I love each and every one of you, I smiled at the pictures of everyone's kids and rolled my eyes at the progressive drawing concocted by yourself, Orlando, and, less surprising than it should be, Viggo. And then I took a good long look at that lovely photo of Ian and Nick in some obscenely beautiful location and thought, "I wish it were me." Think about it, Dominic. The opportunity to love someone unconditionally, a real partner, your right hand man. Someone you can love and go to exotic destinations with and laugh over stupid things with and learn to understand. Someone you can, maybe, if he'll let you, grow old with. And then a little cartoon light bulb went off over my head. In that "oh shit" moment, I realised that Ali was right. Because Dominic, you big attractive eejit, I already have that. I have that with you.

      I can't say this is exactly easy, writing this down. I've never been much of a "feelings" man. I remember when Sean and I were commiserating this one time in New Zealand over our sad pathetic lives while you and Elijah and Orlando went out dancing and generally causing national incidents. Neither of us ever mentioned what was specifically going on, described the particular bird we were having trouble with, or admitted an emotion. That's just the kind of men we are, Beanie and I, but now I realise I have a responsibility to you, to break that mould.

      (And so I'm going to be a coward and write in a letter that I love you, you bastard.)

      All this makes me feel rather dumb, but I have realised these things, and I can't go back on them. I have to see you, and bring this letter in person. I have to bring you a present, something that's very dear to me, a charm that once belonged to my grandmother, and I have to see how you react. I have to find out whether I'm right, and maybe, if I can find some courage somewhere within this frightened heart, act on these feelings. Because it can't be a good thing that the moment everyone started insinuating in these letters that you and Elijah might have had a fling in California, I immediately got irrationally, unexplainably angry and nearly punched a hole in my coffee table. It's not any of my business what you and Elijah got up to while you were living together, but it was more that I was hurt that I wasn't the first you came to, to share your excitement or embarrassment or whatever. And then, when I thought about it, I realised I didn't have that right at all. I don't share my own feelings, so why should you share yours? But, starting now, I want to be honest with each other. I'll tell you how I'm feeling if you promise to be honest with me, whatever your answers are.

      Oh, and uh, are you really sleeping with Elijah?

      Sorry.

      Love (more than you can possibly know,)  
      Billy Boyd,  
      William the Coward,  
      Your friend,  
      who is hopefully shagging you like mad by now,  
      and not crying into his teacup.


End file.
